


The Thief Whisperer

by daisybelle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:25:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisybelle/pseuds/daisybelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travelling through the world John Watson learns the story of Sherlock Holmes. Inspired by the 'Pied Piper of Hamelin'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thief Whisperer

Once upon a time two wanderers crossed the woods around Bakerston and Reichenville. They were quite young, both of them not very large and blond-haired. One of them was a bit smaller; his built a bit more agile, his looks a bit more curious; while the other had a round face and the beginnings of a belly and appeared as someone who was more at home in the comfort of his own living room than on the road. Both of them were healers, just finished studying, and now travelling through the world searching for more experience and an occupation. Their birth town had become too small and their thirst for adventure too big, especially in John Watson, the smaller one. He came from a family of healers and travellers and so it was only natural to follow his ancestors' footsteps. His companion Mike Stamford was not as adventurous as his friend, cared more for a steady life, but was easily convinced to humour John's wishes.

They had already come a long way and were looking for a place to stay for the night, hoping to reach Bakerston before dusk and find a kind soul to take them in. Not only for the obvious reasons – a roof for the night and maybe a meal –, but those woods they were crossing were also rumoured to contain a group of vigilant bandits that robbed travellers or forced them to join them. Neither destiny sounded appealing to John and Mike; that's why both of them were quite relieved when the dark green of the surrounding wood became lighter and they reached the edge of a valley.

Bakerston lay to their feet. They had heard much of this town, owned by the Holmes family. An odd bunch if the rumours were to be believed, but their towns were among the wealthiest in the country. And everything the two wanderers saw confirmed the tales. Rich fields in the bright yellow of wheat ready to be harvested, lovely red-roofed houses with green gardens surrounding Holmes Castle. It was not a very big castle; one tower, two large buildings made of red bricks, a large wall keeping strangers out.

Everything looked very idyllic and only on the second glance John and Mike realised something strange about this picture. The fields were already beyond the point of harvesting, even for a careful farmer; the gardens around the houses were overgrown and even though the sun was still shining there was no trace of an inhabitant. Only the castle displayed signs of life – one or two opened windows and smoke rising from the chimney. Otherwise the whole village seemed deserted.

And this impression was proved to be right when John and Mike walked through the roads past empty houses. No man or woman were to be seen, not a voice to be heard. Not even the curtains moved in the wind.

What had happened here?

Eventually they arrived at the door of the castle. It took some time but in the end an elder woman opened it, looking haggard and fragile as if some sorrow had fallen upon her. But her sad looks brightened when she saw them and she immediately invited them in.

"Oh, you poor boys. Look at you! You're all starved. You must stay overnight, I get one of the guest rooms ready for you and then the kitchen will prepare something solid for you."

A little bit overwhelmed by the woman's enthusiasm John and Mike followed her through the barely-lit hall, up some stairs. For a moment John saw a glimpse of the portraits in the hall – blurry faces in the dark. But one picture drew his attention. He couldn't make out very much apart from a pale face surrounded by dark curls, but the eyes were captivating. Eyes that seemed almost alight and ready to burn into his soul. A plate beside it revealed the name 'Sherlock Holmes'. John longed to stay and get a better look, but he couldn't because Mike and the woman were already around the next corner and John didn't want to lose them.

He caught up with them just when they were about to enter a chamber; from the door John could see two comfortable looking beds in there and a washing table. He stepped in, appreciating his surroundings with the air of someone who has slept too long on wood and hard floor and taking a look out of the windows which gave him a nice view over the valley and the forest … and lots of beehives that had been hidden until now from view by the castle.

"Oh, those belong to the young master", the woman remarked, noticing his interest. "He has 221 of them."

"221?" John repeated a bit disbelieving, but their hostess was already on her way out, instructing them to wash themselves and how to find the dining hall. They still didn't know what her name was but since she offered a bed and food, John decided introductions could wait a little longer and hurried to follow Mike's example who already begun to wash the days' worth of dust from his skin. Both men took more time for their personal hygiene than they would have done while spending a night in the forest, but hunger and curiosity were strong motivators and so they found themselves quite soon in the large dining room where their hostess already waited for them. It was decorated in simple elegance – an oak table dominating the room, a study of the castle the only picture.

John took the opportunity to introduce him and his friend, asking for their hostess' name (Mrs Hudson) and upon finding no polite way to form his questions, rather bluntly asked what had happened to the village. A shadow crossed Mrs Hudson's features, but before she could answer the servants arrived with the dishes and the wine, looking absolutely delicious and reminding John of his very empty stomach. John and Mike eagerly sat down and ate like the starving wanderers they were to the obvious delight of Mrs Hudson who was beaming at the amount of food that disappeared in the mouths of both men while she only ate a few bites herself.

"It has been a while since we had guests that actually eat something and even longer since someone appreciated the food as you do." Her tone was settled between fondness and melancholy and John's mind returned to the empty village and the obvious traces of sorrow and he repeated his earlier question: "What has happened here?"

It was answered with a sad smile. "You are so curios, just like the young master, he couldn't leave a puzzle unsolved."

She sighed; the sound once again full of melancholy and sadness. "I will tell you what happened because you will probably hear a version of this story somewhere else and I'd rather have you learn the truth." She took a sip from her wine before she spoke again, obviously pondering where to begin.

"This has always been a rich valley. The farmers could grow almost everything and it would be a success. One of the reasons were the ideas of the young master. He would ask the farmer to change their seed or to add one of his powders to it and everything would grow faster and bigger. It was like magic, but he said it was just science. Oh, all those experiments and the smell!" For a moment she was lost in memories and despite the exclamation, it was clear they were happy ones.

"Anyway, the farmers were always successful if they followed his advice and those who didn't would do so in the next season. But I'm afraid he wasn't well-loved among the villagers. No farmer is happy when a young lad tells him what to do. His brother was much better at diplomacy than Master Sherlock was. Unfortunately all this success lured thieves and bandits in our village and they would try to steal from the merchants and the villagers. Usually the master was very good at finding them. But one time he was travelling to Reichenville to greet their new master, Sir Richard Brook, and just on this day a true invasion of thieves came to Bakerston and everybody reported something stolen at the end of the first market day. This was when a stranger arrived, calling himself Moriarty, clad in a coat that seemed to be made of falling water, and he offered to get rid of all the thieves in exchange for 30 gold coins. And the villagers agreed, promised him money from the master's fortune."

John didn't dare to interrupt her, although he wanted to know how those villagers could promise their master's money, but he stayed silent and held his cup of wine and listened.

"So the stranger advised everybody to stay the night at home and not to look out of the windows while he would get rid of the thieves. And it was such a dark night, no moon shining and you couldn't see the hand before your very eyes. Some people told me they tried to see something, but only the sound of a pipe was to be heard and sometimes footsteps. But when everybody assembled on the market place the next morning there were indeed only people everybody knew in town and it was a quiet and nice market day, quite contrary to the one before."

It was a strange tale and John found himself a bit disbelieving that one could get rid of all thieves in the course of one night, but he didn't utter his doubts.

"This was also the day the young master returned and when he heard what the people had promised the stranger he just went to meet him. It was a very odd scene, mind you, both men standing at the market place, staring at each other – one in this light coat of floating water and my master in his usual black robes. The stranger smiled the whole time and I tell you, it was an evil smile, a very evil smile and I must admit that I felt a bit frightened by it. But the young master was all calm and just looked. And in the end, he turned around and simply said: 'I don't pay you for chasing away the thieves when you were the one who send them here in the first place.' Oh, all the people on the market held their breaths while we all waited for Moriarty's reply. And this Moriarty stranger still smiled this evil smile and then he said: 'Well, Mr Holmes, if you are so sure of yourself, what if I get rid of your people, too?' And then the young master just answered 'I'd like to see you try' and walked away."

And now John was really curious, how could the young Holmes know this, how could he know that this Moriarty had sent the thieves. But it didn't appear as if Sherlock Holmes had shared his knowledge with their hostess and so he remained silent.

"In the beginning nobody was worried about Moriarty's threat. He had simply disappeared and life went on, but then the children started disappearing, one after the other and sometimes even two on the same day. All without a trace, even from their own beds and suddenly Bakerston became a sad town with families grieving. And the people blamed the young master, not at first, mind you, but when he couldn't find a trace of them, then they remembered Moriarty's threat and they said that he had brought misfortune over them. Nobody saw that he stayed up every night to search for every child, because the villagers didn't want him on their search parties, didn't want to follow his advice anymore, and chased him out of his own village. And then, one night, they were all gone, left their houses and just went away."

It was clear that the events of this time were still very vivid in Mrs Hudson's mind and that she was very loyal to her master. Disbelief over the villagers' behaviour was evident in her voice.

"I remember the master staring out of the window, holding his violin in his hand but not playing it and watching the torches of his people dancing in the dark and disappearing in the forest. Nobody ever returned and after one week the master also disappeared, only leaving a note. 'Stay here Mrs Hudson, or Bakerston will fall'. I haven't heard from him since."

Her voice broke on those last words; tears were rolling down her cheeks. When John offered his handkerchief she muttered some apologies. Mike desperately changed the subject and Mrs Hudson thankfully joined the new course of conversation, but John stayed silent. He was still caught up in the story, his mind lingering on the master of this castle, wondering what had become of him.

Later that night when everybody was already asleep he took a torch to go back to the portrait in the hall and looked at the unhappy young Holmes. The light was not sufficient to make out the rest of the portrait, but he still could see those mesmerizing eyes. And he was staring at them and something seemed to resonate within him and he couldn't look away. The dawn was already sending his first lights before he returned to bed.

 


End file.
